


battered and bruised but all the better for seeing you

by TryingToScribble



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Explosions, Guns, everything else typical of a Bond movie, mentions of past violence, very much beat up Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToScribble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is injured on a mission but, as usual, doesn't go to medical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	battered and bruised but all the better for seeing you

Q brought his freshly made mug of Earl Grey to his lips and sighed as he fell back into the cushions of his sofa. His fingers tapped out a rhythm of some code or other on the side of his mug, restless. Q had not stopped working for nearly forty something hours (he really couldn't be bothered to keep count) since three double-ohs who couldn't do their jobs right the first time needed his expertise.

Seriously, how many of these men had the mental capacities equal to their age? He very much wanted to know if he was the only one left who could do the given mission without getting someone killed or at least shoot someone every time they left the building. His own mind would have answered with '007' if he didn't know any better. Bond was just like the rest of them, unable to complete any mission as he had been asked to. However, when it came to the most important decisions, he knew exactly what he was doing. Even if doing what was right was going against orders.

Apparently, though, even Bond could go AWOL for weeks at a time and come back when he deemed fit. It was an unspoken rule at Six that in the case of 007, if there was no body, no one would dare to bother changing his status to KIA any more. It just became a game of waiting for his return when he fled the many technological eyes of Q-Branch.

This was exactly the case at the moment. Bond, the idiot, had last been heard of when he cut communication with Q himself three days ago. They had successfully infiltrated the target's hanger in a seemingly deserted airfield when shots were fired. 007 grunted some choice language which Q took to mean he'd been hit. By what Q could determine without a visual line he then proceeded to empty his round into the room of enemy combatants and, as if that wasn't enough, he blew the place up.

If Q wasn't as worried as he was (though he would never admit that to the egotistical bastard) he would have laughed about Bond's obsession with explosives. Maybe joked about him compensating for something.

That wasn't the case though. Q hadn't even gone home by choice. Eve, the frustrating woman, had forced him out of his office saying something about getting some sleep. Yeah, like that was going to come easily.

Instead, he sat back against the cushions of his sofa, head rolling backwards so he was facing the ceiling - or rather, staring aimlessly at it.

That's when he heard the knock on the door.

No one ever knocked on his door. Nobody but the men who had hired him into MI6 – not even their computers - knew his address.

So, with these very thoughts in mind, he pushed himself from his reclined position. Then he unlocked his tablet, which was the closest gadget to him, and opened up the security feed to his front door. What he saw almost made him drop his mug. The back of the visitor's head was all he could see from where this camera was positioned but it was enough to recognise the man.

With another flick of his wrist he disabled the security systems to the front entrance and moved to open the door.

"Where the bloody hell have you been, Bond?" Was the question that he shot angrily at the opening door before he saw the state the double-oh was in and his face dropped. _Shit_.

James Bond stood propped up by the door frame. Blood was dripping from a jagged gash on his forehead, a cluster of nicks and cuts across the right side of his face that had been weeping blood and had steadily stopped, a blue-purple bruise was forming across the left side of his jaw and cheekbone, his right arm was held against his chest awkwardly, and blood splatters and blotches stained the majority of his clothing.

Bond lifted his head in recognition and tilted it slightly as he tried his best to give his trademark smirk. "Lovely to see you, too." He replied in as steady a voice as anyone could expect of a man in such a condition before he grunted and slumped forward into the wall.

"James!" Q gasped and leapt forward to catch the other man before he collapsed in a heap in the corridor. The younger man tucked himself under Bond's uninjured shoulder to hold him upright, Bond's arm slung lazily across his smaller shoulders.

Q was stronger than his slight figure showed him to be and he managed to get Bond inside his apartment and sat on the couch where he had been just a minute ago. "Don't move." Q told him before moving to the kitchen for his first aid kit. He had no idea how many people in real life (yes, there was no way his life was any form of reality any more) actually owned, and had on hand, a fully equipped first aid kit but he was certain it wasn't normal. The things he did for James bloody Bond.

When he returned to the living room he found Bond wincing and biting his bottom lip to stop hissing in pain as he unfastened the buttons of his shirt and attempted to peel it off.

The Quartermaster slapped Bond's hands away lightly, simultaneously dropping the first aid kit to the cushions. "Jesus." He cursed under his breath at the sight of the gash now occupying the majority of the double-oh's left pectoral.

"James is fine." Bond shot back. His lopsided grin was ruined by the wince he tried and failed to hide when Q pressed his fingertips to the wound.

Q quirked his eyebrow at the other man and his lips tightened, unimpressed. "James is _not_ fine." He answered without anger and deliberately ignored Bond's joking tone. There was no point in using anger with this idiot. Not that he ever really could. "You do realise this is exactly why we have medical?"

"But your bedside manner is so much better."

A whining toddler. That is exactly what Bond sounded like in that moment, and a smart arse kid at that. It didn't much help that Q even felt like a babysitter most of the time when he was with said overgrown child.

The Quartermaster clicked his tongue to show his annoyance but otherwise ignored the quip. "I don't know why Six insist on paying for the supplies and staff in there when the most they get to handle is some fatigued engineers and my minions' headaches." He shook his head in disapproval as he continued. "You double ohs, though. Christ! Not even threat of death can steer you to the proper doctors. Maybe I should use the medical supplies funding to replace everything in here that you've bled on." He motioned half heartedly to the smears of red across his very much not new to drama couch cushions.

Bond allowed his eyes to wander from Q's hand reaching for antiseptic and a clean cloth he'd thrown in for good measure to the cushions the other hand had gestured at. "They deserved it." He said in reply. Then he choked off a hiss with bared teeth as a newly soaked in antiseptic cloth was pressed to a wound without prior warning.

Q raised an eyebrow at Bond's glare. "You deserved it."

James puffed out an amused breath and sat back to let Q clean him up without inflicting further injury on himself.


End file.
